


Lonely Moon

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/F, Fantasy, Found Family, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Werewolves, contains no spoilers for the actual story, i am praying to god and superman that this will be a normal-length story instead of a fucking epic, non-sexual nudity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-07-30 04:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20091055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: There are beasts in the woods. Leonie's heard about them all her life, even if she's not really superstitious herself. But when people start to disappear and the few survivors stammer things about giant wolves, it's a little hard not to lean towards an explanation straight from a bedtime story.When Leonie finds a strange young woman injured in the woods on the first of the month, she doesn't think anything of bringing her home to patch her up and get her back on her feet. Lovely as she is, there's a sadness that Marianne carries with her, even as she finds herself being accepted into Leonie's home and her village. Leonie thinks she can handle it, but when an unpleasant surprise emerges from the forest, she'll find she's gotten into something bigger than she ever could've imagined.





	1. The First of Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was only a matter of time before i started 3h fic
> 
> edit 8/24/19: added a map. i can already tell this is gonna spiral out of my control

Leonie doesn't know how old she is when she starts being told stories of monsters in the forest. She's pretty young, she figures— it's the kind of thing you tell your kids so they don't wander too far. And when you hear stories of missing hunters and people that stagger home with claw marks in their guts only to collapse just steps away from home, it's easy to believe. When you get a little older, the monsters stop being strange bogeymen that live under beds and in closets. They're wolves and bears, and maybe the occasional very confused mountain lion. There are stories of bigger beasts, wolves the size of houses and fiercer by tenfold, but only little kids and dummies believe in those.  
  
(Although, it's tempting to believe, when the claw marks are just a bit too big to be wolves.)  
  
She does know, though, that she's nine when her father finally starts teaching her how to hunt, and ten when she brings home her first deer she tracked and killed all on her own, and thirteen when his hunting party comes back battered and bloody and hand her his jacket.  
  
Monsters aren't real. Leonie hangs his bow above the fireplace and gets back to work.  
  
The village grieves, of course. Leonie mourns him— the only blood family she ever knew and all. But time eases the sting, and there's little time to feel sorry for herself when she has to eat somehow. Eventually time smooths the rough edges and fills it with dust and grit like the dent in the floorboards from when Leonie dropped a stew pot, until she can walk over it without paying it any mind. She gets by.  
  
People say that the woods have grown more dangerous— it's true, but it's anyone's guess as to why. _Maybe it's just more wolves, fighting for territory, and humans got caught in the middle_, some say. _Maybe it's a change in the weather agitating the animals_, others propose. _It's witches, lurking in the thickets with hedge magic and blood rituals_, still others claim, superstitious people who don't want to think about any explanation closer to home.  
  
The merchants, when they visit to buy hides and jerky, spread rumors— it's not the wolves or the bears or even a mountain lion. They speak of a creature, shaped like a wolf but walks like a man, with fangs and claws that glisten in the moonlight, that comes out every full moon to eat travelers foolish enough to venture out at night.  
  
"We had no choice, last moon," one of the merchants says, trading glassware for furs. "The beast was out while my caravan was traveling. We started with five mercenaries, and after that night, there was only one."  
  
Leonie squints at him. "How do I know that's true?"  
  
The merchant's face was grave. "I wouldn't joke about something like that."  
  
The beast hungers. Villagers from neighboring towns go missing; people lock their doors and hide at the first sign of sundown, nervously anticipating the full moon. Fódlan's people have always watched the moon, for a full moon marks the end of another month, but now they have another reason.  
  
At some point, somebody decides that something must be done. Monster or no, something is plaguing the forests, and this cannot be allowed to continue. The villagers form groups of hunters and trappers and fighters, and they try everything they can to track down the beast. They snare rabbits and deer, and their bait lures wolves, but there is no beast. Leonie is part of a group— she's a good shot with a bow, and it doesn't feel right not lending her aid when people are getting hurt. She's not convinced that it's a monster straight from a fable, but she keeps her eyes peeled anyway.  
  
It's another group's turn for watch on the last night of the Lone Moon. They venture into the forest with torches and blades, watching for the beast.  
  
Leonie doesn't know the full story of what happens. It was foggy that night, dark and dull with a humidity that clouded up lantern glass. She hears that someone ventured too far away from the rest of the group and got himself turned around. There was screaming, howling— it was the beast; what else could it be? They found him hurt but alive, babbling about the beast, but there were multiple, a whole pack— which doesn't make any sense, given what they know. A whole pack of beasts like the rumors say could just eat an entire village in one night. Picking off stragglers hardly seemed efficient. The poor man can hardly string a sentence together, he's so rattled, but he's very certain of what he saw.  
  
The next night, the first night of Great Tree Moon, Leonie ventures into the woods.  
  
It's springtime and the nights are warming, but there's still a lingering chill. Leonie's nineteen, old enough for the village children to listen to her but not old enough for her word to mean very much, and her father's old hunting jacket is battered from years of wear. She has calluses on her fingertips and freckles on her face. She keeps her hair short as she ever did, though lately, she's not convinced it suits her. She's a good hunter, and everyone knows it. Leonie thinks she's pretty good, but she'd rather be a mercenary, and if the villages didn't need all the help they could get tracking down the beast, she'd have done that already.  
  
She leaves just after dusk, and the fog rolls in again. The tiny flame in her lantern dances as she walks, holding it out in front of her in a vain attempt at cutting through the gloom of the old growth. She has a hand on her sword hilt, footfalls silent, breath slow— this is hardly her first hunt, though it is the first time she's ventured out in search of a dangerous beast without any real idea of what to look for.  
  
It's really not a very good environment to be searching, but Leonie has never been the type to go back on a promise because it's a little harder to pull off than she'd initially thought. It's still a surprise when she finds something— a shape outlined in the mist, pressed in the hollow made by the jutting, gnarled roots. It's not a rock or bush. For a second Leonie thinks it's a deer, until she registers the unmistakable sight of human skin, grimy but pale in the lantern light like it hasn't gotten enough sunlight.  
  
Despite what is probably common sense, Leonie edges closer. It's a woman— a girl, really— about Leonie's age, if she had to guess. She has pale blue hair, tangled in the tree bark, that was probably in some sort of updo at some point but that point has long since passed. She's curled around herself, clutching a wound in her side. Her lips and nails are the same blue as her hair. She's also naked— Leonie does her best to ignore that part, because all the blood kind of takes priority.  
  
Her first instinct is to run away. Maybe Leonie's not that superstitious, but she lives in a small town, and there are all kinds of fairy stories about creatures that pretend to be injured humans so they can kidnap would-be good Samaritans. She wrestles with this for a good few minutes, and has almost convinced herself to leave and at least find someone else just in case this is an elaborate hallucination when the woman shifts, slowly prying her eyes open.  
  
She stares. Leonie stares back.  
  
"Where… am I?" she mumbles.  
  
"The woods," Leonie says. "I mean, ah— the woods outside Sauin. Wait—"  
  
The girl shifts again, like she's trying to sit up, and does not succeed. Her face twists in pain when she tries. Leonie reaches out to help. They get far enough that she can lean on one of her arms, her other still around the gashes in her side. She must've had a run-in with a bear— that would explain the claw marks. The bear clearly hadn't wanted her dead, because she would be dead in that case, but she's still lucky she hasn't bled out.  
  
Actually, it's a little odd that she isn't even bleeding. All the blood is congealed and sticky, and the gashes are already clotting.  
  
"Take it easy," Leonie says gently. She puts her father's hunting jacket around the girl's shoulders. "What's your name?"  
  
"You should leave," the girl manages. She's swaying even sitting down, her gaze bleary and unfocused. "I don't want to hurt you."  
  
Leonie quirks an eyebrow. This girl is hardly built like someone particularly dangerous— although, Leonie will admit, she could be a mage. That was always worth considering. "I seriously doubt that'll happen."  
  
"You don't know that," she mumbles. "You don't…" her posture droops like she's used up all her energy. She slumps, and she would've hit the ground if Leonie hadn't caught her.  
  
"Hey, hold on," Leonie protests. "Can I at least get your name?"  
  
"Marianne," the girl murmurs.  
  
"Leonie Pinelli," Leonie replies. "I'll admit that you're right that I don't know what you're capable of, but I'm not going to just leave you here. Do you live nearby?"  
  
Marianne shakes her head.  
  
"Alright, well." Plan B, then. "My house isn't too far. It's not much, but we can get you cleaned up. It has to beat lying out here in the cold, right?"  
  
She chuckles. Marianne doesn't. Leonie feels foolish for trying.  
  
"I promise you don't have to answer anything you don't want to," Leonie says. "And I live on the outskirts, so nobody will see you, if you're worried about that."  
  
"What about your family?" Marianne asks.  
  
"I live alone." Leonie shrugs. "So how about it?"  
  
Marianne considers this. It seems to hurt her head to try, so she nods. "Thank you," she mumbles. "I'm sorry, I can't…"  
  
"Don't worry about it," Leonie promises. "This might hurt, but here, let's…"  
  
She carefully helps Marianne to her feet. Marianne sucks in a breath as her knees give way, and she clings to Leonie's shirt to keep herself from falling again. She's in no condition to stand, let alone walk— good thing Leonie's got something to show for all that training she does.  
  
"Careful, there," she says. She's not that heavy— Leonie's lugged home deer that weigh more. Then again, Marianne isn't a dead deer she plans to eat, so she has to be considerably more delicate.  
  
"I'm sorry," Marianne mumbles again.  
  
"You sure apologize a lot, for someone I've known for five minutes," Leonie remarks.  
  
Marianne doesn't seem to hear her. Her head lolls as Leonie walks, until she rests it on her shoulder. "There are beasts out here," she mumbles, clearly not entirely cognizant. "You don't know what they can do. There are…"  
  
She's out cold, leaving her sentence hanging, unfinished, and leaving Leonie to wonder. Maybe Marianne had a run-in with the beast that theoretically lives in the woods, but the way she talks about it sounds more familiar— less like a monster attack and more like something far more personal. Either way, there's something off about her, and Leonie can only wonder what it is, and what she's just gotten herself into.


	2. Little Bird

It's not hard to get Marianne back to the house. The issue lies in what to do next.  
  
Getting clean is in order. Leonie sets Marianne down on the bed first and lights a fire in the hearth, casting a flickering orange glow over the house. She crouches by the embers and prods at them until the flames start consuming the logs. She hopes it'll be enough— Leonie can sleep through basically any temperature, but she doesn't know about Marianne, and doesn't want to test that. Instead, she busies herself with heating up the water for the bath.  
  
Leonie's house is little, and all it's one room, like most of the hunters' houses on the outskirts. Her great-grandfather built it, or something like that, Leonie doesn't really remember. There's a bed and a table and a few chairs and some cupboards, and it's sturdy and warm and the roof doesn't leak. Leonie's not used to sharing it. Sometimes she'll have visitors, but Marianne is something entirely new. An injured naked woman in her bed is hardly the same as Raphael coming over to try and fix something that doesn't need repairing in exchange for some of her cooking. It kind of worries her— what if her house isn't enough?  
  
She's not usually this self-conscious about her house, of course, why would she be? Nobody else in the village would care because they're just as broke. She probably shouldn't worry so much what Marianne will think, so she doesn't think about that, and focuses on what she's doing. She's almost successful in forgetting the reason why, until she notices Marianne again.  
  
She's fully awake, which is promising. She slowly sits up, the covers falling away, Leonie very determinedly keeping her eyes above her collarbone. Her hair falls in a tangled mass over her bare shoulders. What's most striking to Leonie-- more striking than the fact that she's sitting up at all-- is that she's far more alert.  
  
She blinks, taking in her surroundings. Her eyes glance at the log walls, the fire in the hearth, the empty bookshelf, the dusty curtains. Then they settle on Leonie.  
  
Leonie coughs. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"I," Marianne attempts. She has a soft little voice, hesitant but reminding Leonie of bird songs. "Better. Thank you."  
  
"That's quite a feat, with a gash like that," Leonie comments. "Sit tight. The bath's almost ready. We should get you cleaned up before I try to do any first aid."  
  
Marianne glances down at the wound on her side. She idly reaches up and touches the edges, sharp and crusty with dried blood. There's bruising in the area, blue and purple like flowers on her pale skin. Leonie notices more crusting under her fingernails. There's a cut in her lip and another bruise on her cheek. Now that Leonie thinks about it, she looks more like she got into a fight than like she had a run-in with some kind of beast. She probably shouldn't ask, at least not yet.  
  
Just don't think about it. Leonie excuses herself to get water from the pump.  
  
The grime comes off easily. Leonie leaves her to it, keeping her back turned because she may have raised herself from age thirteen onwards, but she knows it's probably impolite to watch someone else bathe if they can do it just fine themselves. She digs around for something for Marianne to wear in the meantime.  
  
Leonie sighs at the clothing in her trunk. "We'll have to find you something of your own to wear," she says, while Marianne sits wrapped in a blanket on the dining chair and the now-empty washtub sits beside the back door to air-dry. "All I've got are a bunch of boy's clothes, but I mean, I suppose that's alright, since it's not like you're in any shape to leave the house, and I'm not expecting company."  
  
"I don't mind," Marianne says quietly. "Sorry to be a bother."  
  
"I never wear this nightshirt anyway," Leonie shrugs, setting it on the table next to the first-aid box. "May I take a look?"  
  
Marianne lets her. Leonie rubs some salve on the wound. It smells terrible, and Marianne grimaces.  
  
"Yeah, I know," Leonie chuckles. "It works, though. One time I burned my hand making dinner, and when I put some of this stuff on, it got better in like, two days."  
  
"Wow," Marianne comments.  
  
"Yeah, it'd be better if I knew some magic to keep the infection out, but." She shrugs. "Does it sting?"  
  
"A bit," Marianne admits. "Um, I know some healing magic. Not much, and I've never had to heal anything this big... I'd probably just make it worse." She pauses. "Well. Not that that matters any. It wouldn't work if I tried to heal myself."  
  
"Magic always comes with a catch, huh," Leonie says, taking out the bandages. "Hey, can I ask how long ago you got that gash?"  
  
Marianne hesitates. "The... day before yesterday," she says. "No, wait. Yesterday. I'm sorry, my memory isn't very good."  
  
"And can I ask how?"  
  
She chews at her lip, looking at her knees like she's afraid to look Leonie in the eye. She has her hands clasped, almost as if she's praying. "I was... traveling," she says. "In the woods. I lost track of time, and I had a run-in with the... with a beast."  
  
Leonie hums. "Well, you wouldn't be the first," she says. "People have been talking about some kind of beast for months. Merchants going missing, hunters coming back with gashes like that. There've always been wolves and things, but they've never been this active. Plus, no wolf has paws that big." She nods to the claw marks.  
  
"I didn't see it well," Marianne mumbles.  
  
"Must be a nighttime hunter," Leonie guesses. "I dunno. People are saying all sorts of things. I've got a friend who's convinced it's a dragon, but I think it's even less likely than some kind of-of-of bear-sized wolf."  
  
Leonie shakes her head. "Ah, I'm rambling. Guess all the gossip has been getting to me. Nice of you to humor me, though. I don't have company very often."  
  
"Sorry," Marianne says. "Ah... you... live alone?"  
  
"Yep." Leonie starts to bandage up the wound. "It's just been me since my dad died. I get by, though."  
  
"Nobody took you in?"  
  
"The ladies at the church have enough mouths to feed." Leonie shrugs. "I was old enough to take care of myself, so that's what I did. I think I turned out pretty okay. What about you, what's your family like?"  
  
Marianne hesitates. "I... we don't get along," she says. "It's complicated."  
  
"Always is, huh," Leonie mutters. "Anyway, I think that'll do it. Is it too tight? Can you breathe?"  
  
Marianne hesitantly tests this. She nods. "Um, thank you."  
  
"Least I could do." Leonie helps her put the nightshirt on. It's a bit too big, which she'd expected. "I'll ask my friend if his little sister has some things we could borrow-- you're about her size. Not because you're freakishly small or anything, she's just big for her age."  
  
Marianne nods. "Thank you," she says again.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Leonie promises. She glances out the window. It's getting late. "Hungry? I'll make you something."  
  
Marianne nods, pulling the blanket back around her shoulders. Leonie, glad for something to do, stands back up and busies herself with starting a fire in the stove. She still has some soup left over from dinner— she hopes Marianne likes chicken.  
  
If she doesn't, she doesn't say it— either that, or she's too hungry to protest. Leonie's not surprised. Being injured takes a lot out of you, and she'll need that energy to heal. By the time Leonie's gotten ready for bed, the soup bowl is empty.  
  
"Well, damn," Leonie remarks. "If I'd known you'd be that hungry, I would've made extra earlier today."  
  
Marianne looks down. "I'm sorry," she mumbles. "Um… it was very good soup."  
  
"Glad someone thinks so," Leonie chuckles. "Hey, it's pretty late. I wake up pretty early, so I usually go to bed around this time, and you'll need rest if you're gonna heal up right, so…"  
  
"Ah." Marianne nods. She glances around the house. Her eyes settle on the bed. "Um… there's…"  
  
Leonie blinks. It had somehow not occured to her that there was only one bed in the house. "Right," she said. "Hm."  
  
"Is there… another room?" Marianne asks feebly.  
  
Leonie shakes her head. "I mean, I've got some extra bedding," she says. "I used to use it, back when my dad was around. I think it's stuffed into a trunk somewhere?" She scratches her head. "I'll find it. You take the bed."  
  
"I-I couldn't," Marianne protests. "It's your bed. I'm a heavy sleeper, I'll take the floor."  
  
"I bet we could both fit," Leonie says, looking back towards the bed. "I mean, it's fine, it's a pretty big bed." It isn't, but that's not helpful. "So…"  
  
Marianne's cheeks flush. "Um… I don't know," she mumbled. "I don't think I'd be a very good bedmate… I've never had to share before."  
  
"Well, only one way to find out," Leonie shrugs. "I just can't in good conscience let you sleep on the floor. You're injured, and a guest."  
  
"I… suppose…" Marianne admits.  
  
They both fit, but there's not a lot of room. Leonie tries very hard not to think about how close they are. She insists to herself that it's fine, she's shared bed space before, but this is hardly the same thing as spending the month at Raphael's house that time a storm broke three of her windows and the carpenter was out of town. It's starting to feel a bit silly trying to compare any of this with Raphael, because the two of them couldn't be more different.  
  
"I have to ask," Leonie ventures. "Why were you out in the woods the other night?"  
  
Marianne doesn't answer.  
  
Leonie sighs. "Yeah, I figured you wouldn't say," she says. "Guess we've all got our secrets. Goodnight."  
  
She turns over. Marianne stays quiet. The only hint to Leonie that she's even awake at all is the shift of the quilt and the murmur of her voice when she says it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god there was only one bed


	3. Foxes Hunt the Hounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you glance back at chapter one, you'll notice a map there. i made it bc we're in deep now. fuckin strap in for a new novel

Morning sunshine falls through the windows. The fog's burned off during the morning, while Leonie was busy with the morning chores, leaving a clear sky still tinged with dawn. The village has been awake for hours— you rise early, when there's work to be done. Leonie's no exception, and that's especially because there's no one to split the workload with. It's hard, keeping up with all of it herself, but she's not going to complain when there are no other options.   
  
Someone knocks twice on the front door. "S'open," Leonie calls, and in walks one of Leonie's favorite people in the world— her best friend, Raphael.   
  
"What's for breakfast?" he asks, by way of a greeting. "Ham? Eggs?"  
  
"You wish," Leonie chuckles, as Raphael plunks himself in one of the chairs, which creaks under his considerable weight. "I finished ages ago."  
  
"Aw." He pouts, but true to form, he doesn't let it get him down for long. "Well, then, got any ideas for brunch? I'd gladly wait around for your cooking."  
  
Leonie snorts. "You flatter me. Was there anything you wanted, or were you just hungry and Maya wouldn't let you steal from the kitchen?"  
  
"I can't come to visit my best friend?" Raphael teases. "No, really, though, uh, you disappeared kinda early from the patrol last night. I wanted to come check up on you."  
  
"You're sweet." Leonie takes the jam and the remaining half of her loaf of bread out of the cabinet and sets them down in front of Raphael. His face lights up. "Well, you don't have to worry about me. Nothing's out of the ordinary."  
  
So she said. And then she hears some shuffling coming from the bed as her unexpected houseguest shifts, slowly returning to the waking world, and she conveniently remembers _oh, right._  
  
Marianne shifts, pushing herself up on her elbows. Her hair is a mess, and the neckline of the borrowed nightshirt has shifted off of one of her shoulders. She blinks blearily, looking around the cabin and slowly piecing together the night before. Her eyes land on Raphael.  
  
Raphael stares. Marianne stares back. Both of them look at Leonie.   
  
Her saving grace is that Raphael has never been the sharpest tool in the shed. He grins brightly and nods to Marianne. "G'morning," he says, going back to spreading jam on his piece of bread. "Hey, Leonie, I didn't know you made a friend! Good for you."   
  
Leonie sighs. "Raphael, you're an angel and a blessing."  
  
"Aw, thanks!"  
  
"But listen," she says. "Long story short, this is Marianne and I found her passed out in the woods last night. She was injured and doesn't live around here, so I brought her home to spend the night."  
  
Raphael nods sagely. "I would've done the same."  
  
"You're taking this awfully well," she remarks. "Listen, uh— hey, I actually do have something you can do for me. I haven't finished cutting up firewood, can you take care of that?"  
  
"Sure can," Raphael agrees. He stuffs the bread in his mouth and downs the thick slab in about three bites, nods to Marianne again, and leaves out the back door. Leonie sighs, pushing her hair back from her face.   
  
"I'm sorry about that," she says, helping Marianne sit up. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Um... better," Marianne says quietly. She doesn't look at Leonie while she says it. "It doesn't hurt so much."   
  
"Oh, that's good," Leonie says. "Hungry? l like to think I'm an okay cook— I mean, _Raphael_ thinks so, but he'd eat pond scum if you put it on a plate. It's nothing fancy. Though, I don't really know what you're used to..."  
  
"It's fine," Marianne promises.   
  
"Let me take a look at that wound," Leonie suggests. "Gotta say, it's really unusual to just find folks out in the woods, especially if they're not local." She helps Marianne over to the chair, and Marianne holds up the hem of the nightshirt to allow Leonie to check the bandages.  
  
"We… travel," she says weakly. "My, um, family and I."   
  
"Oh, are you merchants?" Leonie guesses.   
  
Marianne nods. "I, um… there was an attack on our campsite. I got separated from the others, and one of the beasts caught up with me. I managed to get away, but as you can see…"   
  
Leonie hums, peeling away the bandages. They come away sticky with clotted blood and fluid, but the blood itself has stopped, which is a good sign, and it doesn't look infected. But it's better safe than sorry, so she puts more salve on and wraps it up in fresh bandages. "You know, you're a pretty bad liar."  
  
Her face flushes to the tips of her ears. "O-oh."  
  
"But if you're not gonna tell me, you're not gonna tell me," she shrugs. "Clearly you're not ready for whatever reason, so I won't pry too much."  
  
"You're being very kind to me," Marianne mumbles. "Um… may I ask about the town? I'm not very familiar with this area…"   
  
"Oh, sure." Leonie rubs her chin, thinking of what's worth mentioning. "Well, I'll start with the obvious. We're in Goneril lands, and I guess a geography textbook would just say we're in Goneril, but nobody I know says it like that. This area's called the Blue Pine Woods. Lord Goneril's house is about a twenty-minute ride west. There's a highway leading to Almyra up north of here. That's where Rosebud Village is. It's the biggest town in the area, right near this big fancy magic school for rich kids or something. Let's see, what else?" She hums. "Oh! we're not too far from Lake Azura. It's not that special a lake or anything, but it's full of fish, so I'm partial to it."  
  
"You like fishing?" Marianne guesses.  
  
Leonie waves a hand noncommittally. "I don't _hate_ it. Mostly I just like having food."  
  
"Blue Pine Woods," Marianne mumbles, as if she's trying to etch the name into her memory. "So the… beasts… come from these woods? They don't seem dense enough to hide any really big predators…"  
  
"I mean, they're big woods," Leonie shrugs. "But, well, there's a rumor that they're from way, way deeper— there's this place, east of here, where the trees are so old and overgrown that it's practically pitch dark even in the middle of the day, and nobody ever goes there. They say it's full of magic, and I mean, it's no secret that we're on a leyline, that's why the magic school's this far away from any major city, but like, witches and stuff."

She snorts. "I mean, I've never really been one for fairy stories. I think it's probably just normal woods, it's just too dark and thick to be worth really exploring."  
  
Marianne nods. "R-right… fairy stories." She glances out the window at the trees, and there's something like fear in her eyes— but Leonie's gut tells her that it's not because she's afraid of any vauge could-be monsters. It's because Marianne knows exactly what's in those woods, monster or not, and she's terrified of it.  
  
Leonie stands back up, and Marianne covers herself up again. "Alright," Leonie decides. "Are you alright with me bringing Raphael back in here? He's friendly, but he doesn't bite."  
  
"Um, no," Marianne says. "N-no, I don't mind, that is. It's your house."  
  
"You're my guest," Leonie insists, but she lets it go. "Hey, Raphael?"  
  
"I got the wood!" Raphael calls through the open window, hoisting a ridiculous quantity of firewood in his broad, strong arms.   
  
"Great," Leonie says. "Bring it on inside."   
  
Raphael nods and brings the pile inside. It's definitely more firewood than Leonie needed, but it's not like you can ever have too much. He nods politely to Marianne again, a pleasant smile on his face.  
  
"Hey, Raphael," Leonie says. "I've got a quick question. You think Maya has some extra clothes Marianne can borrow? Just until we can get her her own things, that is."   
  
"Oh, definitely," Raphael agrees. "I'll ask her. Oh, hey, guess what!"  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"Claude's back in town!" he says. Leonie raises her eyebrows. "I know, right? He must be crazy to be traveling with those wolves about, but you know him." Raphael chuckles. "I was actually gonna see what he's got in stock this moon. I wonder if he has any more of those Almyran candies?"  
  
"Half his wares are Almyran candies."  
  
"Yeah, but are they the one I'm looking for?"  
  
"Fair." She'll concede to that. She spoons some oatmeal from her pot on the stove into a bowl and sets it in front of Marianne. "You should eat up, it'll help you heal faster."  
  
"Oh, yeah," Raphael agrees. "I know good food always makes me feel better real quick. Leonie's cooking must double it!"  
  
Leonie hums thoughtfully, checking her pantry. "I should make a supply run," she muses aloud. "Marianne, will you be okay here on your own?"  
  
Marianne looks up. "Oh," she says. "Yes, I'll be fine."   
  
"Perfect." Leonie rolls her shoulders and picks up her jacket. "I'll pick up some stuff from Maya while I'm at it. Back soon."  
  
Sauin is hardly a bustling city, but it's a village that's old enough and in a good enough location that it's of some value to the local lord. It's got a road through the forest that's wide enough to get a cart through, some space for garden plots, and access to the river and the animals that call it home. The houses are pretty scattered— in the winter, Leonie can go weeks without seeing a single soul— but not so scattered that it's a significant production to go to town, and the people, as such, are familiar but not to the point of being as permanent as the trees and rocks.   
  
Leonie knows most of the folks in town— permanent new faces are rare, and usually it's only when someone moves back home with a new wife or husband, once in a blue moon. And likewise, most of the folks in town know her, or at least they knew her father and can guess she's his daughter just by looking at her.   
  
Claude is the exception to this rule. Claude is the exception to a lot of rules, a fact in which he takes great pride. Leonie doesn't know all that much about Claude, like, who he is as a person, but she's pretty sure that's exactly how he likes it. She doesn't entirely trust him— but for what they are, that's fine. They're on familiar terms, but when it comes down to it, Claude is just another merchant, origin be damned.   
  
He offers a two-fingered salute to Leonie and Raphael when they approach him in the marketplace, leaning against a fence post with his ever-present wyvern and his saddlebags full of trinkets that are really only notable for their foreignness. Claude considers himself less of a merchant and more of a trader, because he deals exclusively in barter. This actually makes a lot of sense, given that Fódlan gold has little value in Almyra. Leonie can't imagine that anything anyone trades in return is particularly valuable in Almyra, either, but when she asked Claude this, he only grinned and told her not to worry about it.   
  
Claude spreads his hands in greeting. "If it isn't my two best friends," he says. "Been too long. Raphael, have you gotten bulkier?"   
  
Raphael preens. "Well, I've been training real hard," he says. "Been hauling lots of shipments for my sister, too." He flexes, just to show off. Claude laughs and nods approvingly.   
  
"So, what can I do you for?" he asks. "I've got some pretty nifty trinkets I'm willing to part with."  
  
"Well, I'm in the market for those lemon candies you had a couple months back," Raphael says.  
  
Claude hums, rummaging in his bag. He comes up victorious, holding a little paper package. "Whatcha got to trade?"  
  
As he and Raphael work out the details of the bartering arrangement, Leonie glances around the marketplace. She sees about half the town, which really isn't saying much, but she also sees more soldiers than she typically does— patrols from Lord Goneril will come through sometimes, but they never stay for very long, and they're never this big.  
  
"Hey, Claude," she says. "You know what's up with all the soldiers?"  
  
Claude follows her gaze. "Oh, yeah, them," he remembers. "Right. Well, I hear that there's a Goneril battalion camped up in Rosebud, led by the big man's son himself— what was his name? Howard?"  
  
"Holst," Leonie nods. "Now that's odd. We see Lord Goneril's daughter all the time, but General Holst?"

"Apparently, he's got soldiers stationed all through the woods," Claude says. "He's running some kind of campaign to get rid of the beasts."  
  
Leonie frowns. "But does he have trackers and hunters in his battalion? He's not gonna get very far with a bunch of soldiers."  
  
"Charging into the woods definitely isn't what I'd do," Claude agrees. "But, hey, maybe he _does_ have trackers and hunters. We don't know."  
  
"Guess it's not our problem right now," Leonie shrugs. "Shit, Raphael, we should hurry up and stop by your house. I don't want Marianne to think I forgot about her."  
  
Claude arches an eyebrow. "Oh? Marianne? It's not like you to have houseguests, Leonie." He wiggles his eyebrows at the word 'houseguest' and Leonie's ears turn red.  
  
"Not like that," she insists. "I just met her. I don't even know her last name."  
  
"Not a deal-breaker. You ever heard of a Daphnel Marriage—"  
  
_"Claude!"_ Leonie regrets ever leaving the house.  
  
"Leonie found a girl in the woods the other night," Raphael fills him in. "No idea where she came from or why she was out there or nothing."  
  
"Last night, huh?" Claude hums. "Weird. You'd think most folks would stay at home with all the monster attacks and such, especially around the full moon. I'm the only one I know crazy enough to travel these days."  
  
"She wasn't anywhere near the main roads, either," Leonie says. "She definitely had a run-in with something nasty, but I have to wonder why she was out in the first place."  
  
Raphael hums. "Maybe she was sleepwalking," he suggests. "I had a cousin who did that. It happens."  
  
"I guess it's plausible," she admits. "We'll see you later, okay, Claude?"   
  
"You know where to find me," Claude replies, waving as Leonie and Raphael leave.   
  
Maya Kirsten is fifteen, and between her and her brother, if Raphael got the muscles, Maya got the brains. They're very similar in basically every other respect— Maya's tall, chubby, blonde, and has the same big hands and sweet smile as Raphael. She's more than happy to help, though Leonie could do without the knowing smirk she gives when Leonie says "girl" and "my house" in the same sentence. As if she knows anything. As far as Leonie's concerned, Maya's still a baby.  
  
Maya's clothes fit Marianne well enough, since they're about the same height, but Maya is bigger in every other sense by just enough that it shows. Still, Marianne agrees that it's better than having to spend all day in Leonie's house. Marianne herself confesses that she's not exactly a social butterfly, but even she would go a little stir-crazy after a while.   
  
Lunch that day is a rabbit Leonie bags on her way back home. Marianne looks at it with hungry enough eyes that Leonie guesses she must be a meat fan— that's at least one thing they have in common. Marianne doesn't complain, either, if she thinks the meat is overcooked. She seems to restrain herself from tearing into it like a wild animal, which sticks out enough to Leonie that she notes it, but doesn't think it's really worth mentioning. Leonie's avoided a good deal of bullshit by knowing when to shut up.  
  
After lunch, while they're cleaning up from lunch. (Marianne needs more guidance than Leonie had expected— maybe she's a noble?), Marianne speaks up. "Um, Leonie? May I… ask you something?"  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"You're a hunter, right?" she asks.   
  
Leonie furrows her brow. "Thought that much was obvious, but, yes."  
  
"And you try to protect your village," she continues. "Right?"  
  
"Of course. It's home."  
  
"So, then," she says. "If something were a danger to the people, even if it didn't seem like it at first, would you hesitate to take it down?"  
  
"Awfully specific hypothetical," Leonie remarks. "But yes, I guess so. I'd try to be positive that it was a threat before shooting, of course, but when it comes down to it, I need to protect the people here. Raphael wouldn't let me hear the end of it if I tried to pull some lone wolf bullshit."   
  
Marianne seems satisfied with that answer. "Thank you," she says. "That reassures me."  
  
Leonie understands less and less the more she learns. This time, though, she doesn't have time to wonder— there's something in the woods.


	4. The Visitors

Leonie's out the door with her bow nocked in twenty seconds. She's in the woods and creeping closer to the shadows in the underbrush in sixty. About five seconds later, she's got an arrow pointed right in the face of a teenage boy.  
  
To his credit, he only blinks, and takes a step back from the arrow inches from his nose. He looks like a rich kid, probably a student from the school near Rosebud. Leonie would call him long rather than tall— he's slouching too much for her to call him tall. She notices his companion next, a younger girl maybe Maya's age but much shorter, with pale hair, pale skin, dark sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed hat. She has a notebook bound in battered but expensive-looking purple leather clutched tightly to her chest.  
  
"Well, hello," the boy says, breaking the tension. Leonie lowers her bow. "Do you always point bows at people?"  
  
"I do if I think they're wolves or creeps coming too close to my house, yeah," Leonie replies. "Do you always take walks this far off the beaten path?"  
  
"It was _his_ idea," the girl insists.  
  
"Indeed it was. I caught sight of a very odd trail of fur caught in brambles— I've studied the local fauna, you see, and its weight and texture doesn't match any records, not to mention the distinctive color." He slides a thin leather glove onto one hand and pulls a tuft of fur out of a wax-paper bag. Leonie would guess it's wolf fur, but it's finer, wispier, and it's silver, almost blue— all the wolves in the area are much darker.  
  
Leonie knits her brows. "Uh-huh. Well, I sure haven't seen anything that bit of fur could've come from. Mind if I ask why you're so interested?"  
  
"Yes." As far as Leonie can tell, he's completely sincere. His friend nudges him pointedly. He sighs. "Oh, very well. My name is Linhardt, a student of the Edmund School of Magic conducting an investigation. Rumors of predator attacks have traveled as far as the school, and I'm very interested in what's causing it."  
  
"You and every soldier in Goneril," Leonie snorts.  
  
"Oh, I don't want to hunt the beast," Linhardt corrects. "I'd prefer to track it down and study it. Capture it, if necessary, but that's plan B."  
  
"I'm Lysithea," the girl adds. "I'm here because Linhardt thinks that it's _fairy tales_ at work, and _I'm_ trying to prove that it's an unlicensed dark mage fooling with life magic."  
  
"If you're students, shouldn't you be, you know," Leonie gestures vaguely. "At school?"  
  
"Spring break," they say in unison.  
  
"Right." Alright, whatever, not her problem. "Well, I haven't seen anything."  
  
"Who might've?" Lysithea asks.  
  
Leonie shrugs. "A guy from one of the village patrols had a run-in with one the other night," she says. "He got hurt, but he'll live. Not sure if you're gonna get much out of him, though— he was pretty shaken up. You might track down whichever one of Lord Goneril's lieutenants is in this neck of the woods and ask him for reports, or maybe Claude might know. He's a merchant, and the only one I know who's traveling long-distance through the woods with all that's going on. You'll probably find him at the Kirsten's inn." She jabs her thumb towards the path leading from her house into town.  
  
Linhardt doesn't look convinced. "The trail went cold very close to here," he says. "Are you sure you're saying all you know?"  
  
"Are you calling me a liar?"  
  
"Yes. If you're lying." He really doesn't beat around the bush.  
  
"Oh, come _on_," Lysithea protests, which is probably for the best, because Leonie doubts she'd be particularly eloquent. "Look at that dinky little house. How could one person hide a giant beast in there?"  
  
"Elementary, my dear Lysithea," Linhardt replies. "You see, the _were_ half of the word werewolf means man— a man-wolf, obviously because the very nature of a werewolf is that they change forms. If our friend here—"  
  
"Leonie."  
  
"— were harboring a werewolf, then _obviously_ said werewolf would be in human form."  
  
He looks back at Leonie, and then looks at her house. Leonie has a bad feeling about this, and not just because Linhardt's not stellar in the social tact department. "Who else lives here?"  
  
Leonie glances back at her house. "I live alone," she says, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “You know someone probably would’ve found out by now if there were werewolves, right?” She’d think he was on something if he didn’t seem disturbingly sober.  
  
"Hm." Linhardt frowns. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take you at your word, and pursue other sources. Good day." He turns tail and walks off, back down the path.  
  
Lysithea looks from Linhardt to Leonie, and sighs. "He _means_," she says pointedly. "That he's thankful for your cooperation and for pointing him towards people who might be able to help."  
  
"Not too great with people, is he?" Leonie remarks.  
  
"You have no idea." Lysithea sighs, pushing her glasses down her nose to rub between her closed eyes. "Anyway, I'll try to keep him from disturbing too much. Bye." And she's off just as quick as Linhardt was, leaving Leonie with her bow on her shoulder, watching her melt into the shadows.  
  
"Huh," Leonie mutters. "Weird kids."  
  
Marianne's on the other side of the front door when Leonie returns. She jerks back, looking down like she's gotten caught doing something she wasn't supposed to and is expecting to be scolded for it. Leonie does no such thing.  
  
"Just some kids from the school up north," Leonie explains, putting her bow away. "Nothing to worry about. There's some stuff to do outside— you know anything about animals?"  
  
She lights up. She composes herself quickly, but there's still visible excitement in her face. "W-well, I," she manages. "I've never really had to take care of any animals, but I've always liked them. Horses, especially." She looks down, like she's confessing to some kind of transgression. "Um, I-I don't know how much help I'll be…"  
  
"Well, it's either help me out or twiddle your thumbs all day, which sounds pretty boring," Leonie says matter-of-factly, taking her old straw hat off the rack and plopping it on Marianne's head. "Besides, two hands are better than one. I may not have a horse, but I've got a goat and some chickens, and a dog around here somewhere."  
  
"A dog?"  
  
"My dad's hunting dog," Leonie explains, holding the back door open for Marianne. "Not that he was any good at the dog part. Damn thing thinks he's a wolf. He shows up when I chuck some bones into the yard or to antagonize the chickens." To prove her point, Leonie takes a femur from the day's lunch, whistles sharply, and throws the bone into the clearing, between the goat paddock and the tree line. A fat beagle tears out of the woods and pounces on the rabbit bone like it's an actual rabbit, gleefully gnawing at it and ignoring Leonie completely.  
  
Marianne nods in understanding. "Does he have a name?"  
  
"Dad always called him Buck," Leonie says. "He never answers to it, though. You ever had a dog?"  
  
She hums, looking at Buck attempting to eviscerate a bone. "No," she says. She doesn't elaborate.  
  
Well, that's fine. Leonie shows Marianne over to the henhouse. Her property is pretty small— it's a little clearing and a little house, and since it's been just Leonie and her father until he died, it fits just fine. They have a garden for veggies and a goat for fresh milk and a few chickens for eggs (more than Leonie could eat by herself, actually, so she gave the rest to Raphael), and anything else Leonie could either make or trade for. Her father might be dead, but he'd taught her to hunt, to fish, to mend seams, to build fires, to fix fences. He'd taught her the basics of cooking, and the rest was trial and error (and error and error and error). There were some things she had to teach herself, and some things that really _were_ two-person jobs, but Leonie's not above asking for help when she needs it. It'd just be foolish to try and do everything alone.  
  
"Spring means weeding, unfortunately," Leonie sighs. "It takes the longest, so I'll do that. There should be some eggs in the coop, so just put 'em in that basket."  
  
"Oh." Marianne picks up the basket. "Will it bother the chickens?"  
  
"Nah, they don't care. Just scoot 'em out of the way."  
  
Marianne hesitates, but steels herself, setting her chin in determination as she stares down the henhouse. Leonie has several chickens, who pretty much ignore Marianne until she sticks her arm into the henhouse. Leonie, watching out of the corner of her eye, prepares to call encouragement or instruction, whichever she might need, but it seems Marianne has it well in hand. Leonie's secretly relieved— she's not sure how much easier it could be.  
  
Very slowly and deliberately, Marianne sets the first egg into the basket. She sighs in relief when it's sitting safely in the straw. Now it's time for the next one. One of the chickens hops over to her and pokes at the hem of her dress.  
  
The second egg is carefully deposited into the basket. Her mouth is in a firm line. It's kind of cute how careful she's being. (She's also glad, having seen Marianne's shaky hands in action.) A hen clucks at her. She looks down.  
  
"Hello," she tells it. "You have a lovely home."  
  
Leonie tunes it out. Her own basket slowly fills with weeds, newly emboldened by the spring rains and the growing crops. The sunshine pours down on her unprotected neck. It's not summer yet, not for a while, but the warmth is nice to feel after the winter. Leonie expects to see spring produce in the market square; strawberries and squash and apples and cabbage. She also makes a note to look for the berry bushes— they start producing like crazy around Great Tree Moon. Marianne can probably help her with that.  
  
Marianne does help her with that. Over the next few days, Marianne grows stronger and her injuries fade until even the biggest gash is just a set of fresh pink skin that'll fade into a scar. She heals more quickly than Leonie's ever seen— maybe the salve is just that good. She's well enough to leave if she wants to, but she never brings it up, despite how much Leonie's seen her glancing at the forest. But Leonie doesn't bring it up, either. She kind of likes having Marianne around.  
  
Marianne goes with her into town on Saturday, for another supply run. It's nice having company— nicer than Leonie would've expected. Marianne doesn't talk much, of course, and she hides behind her hat whenever anyone glances her way, but it's nice having a second opinion on things, even if Marianne second-guesses herself every time. Leonie hadn't thought it was possible to second-guess an opinion.  
  
"That should be everything," Leonie decides, looking over the shopping list one last time. "You've healed up really well, so we probably don't need any more salve. I'll never stop being amazed at how well that stuff works, honestly. It's like magic."  
  
"It was very well-made salve," Marianne agrees. "I, um, know a little about medicine— my mother was an apothecary. Not that I remember much about her craft…"  
  
"Oh, that's pretty cool," Leonie says. "You know, that's the first you've mentioned your family."  
  
Marianne stiffens. "Well, I… it's hard to talk about. But, um, they're gone now. I suppose you could say I've lived with my grandfather, but that's kind of complicated."  
  
"Oh." Leonie's not sure what to say to that. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Mm." She fidgets with the weaving of the basket of trade goods Leonie bought for five gold and half a gallon of milk. The air between them grows awkward— but only for a moment, because a second later, Marianne's face goes very pale, and she nearly drops the basket. She freezes in place.  
  
Leonie frowns. "Marianne?" she asks. "What's—"  
  
Leonie follows her gaze. She spots Linardt and Lysithea, those two schoolkids from earlier, with Linhardt in what seems to be a very heated discussion with an unfamiliar man. He's a young-ish, nondescript kind of man that Leonie couldn't pick out of a crowd if she tried, though given how worked up he is, he's hard to miss. Linhardt doesn't look particularly fussed, but even only meeting him once, Leonie figures that's unusual. Leonie can't tell what Lysithea is feeling, but given the very stern frown on her face, it's probably not positive.  
  
"Oh, hey, it's those kids from the other day," Leonie remarks. "They were the ones who came by the house. Investigating the beast problem, or at least one of them is." She frowns. "Do you know them?"  
  
Marianne shakes her head. She's trembling, almost like she's about to either cry or run away, or both. "No," she chokes out. "I, um—"  
  
"Oh, it's you," Linhardt notices. "From the woods."  
  
"Leonie, yeah," Leonie says. "Sorry, were you two having a conversation?"  
  
"I suppose," Linhardt says.  
  
"We _were_, in fact," the other man says icily. "And who are you? Another child who thinks they're _so_ knowledgeable about my field of study?"  
  
"No, I just live here," Leonie replies. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"I," the man says. "Am Scholar Frost. I've come on the request of Lord Goneril to assist with the werewolf problem in the Blue Pine Woods. I've done quite a bit of study in the field of magical creature research up in Edmund, so, obviously, with the nature of this problem being what it is, my expertise was needed."  
  
"You really like hearing yourself talk," Linhardt notices.  
  
"Werewolves?" Leonie repeats, raising an eyebrow. "You’re kidding. Linhardt mentioned ‘em the other day, but I still find it hard to believe. No one around here has even seen one in ages.”  
  
"Probably because werewolves don't live anywhere near the villages," Lysithea pipes up. "_Duh_. They're a reclusive sort, they tend to keep to their territories where humans and such can't get to them."  
  
"Werewolf or other beast," Frost says stiffly. "I am the resident expert. Edmund is famous for its werewolf activity."  
  
"Huh. Cool." Leonie hadn't known that and doesn't really care. "Listen, I'm not gonna be of any help to either of your investigations, so I should really get going. Good to see you again, Linhardt, Lysithea. It was…" she wouldn't exactly say it was nice to meet Frost, even if that'd be the polite thing to say. "Well, bye. Marianne, we should—"  
  
"Marianne?" Frost cuts her off.  
  
Leonie raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, do you know her?" She glances back towards Marianne, who hasn't moved, even though she probably desperately wants to.  
  
"Oh, you could certainly say that," he says, looking at Marianne. Marianne, pale as a ghost, is frozen in place. Leonie may not be a werewolf scholar, but she can put two and two together. She makes a note of Frost's face, specifically so she can avoid him and keep him away from Marianne. She's not totally sure why, but figures she doesn't need to know the whole story if Marianne won't tell her.  
  
"Uh-huh, okay, great," Leonie decides. "We should really—"  
  
Frost steps forward. "Young lady," he says. "You don't seem to understand. There is a monster among you— a monster _you've_ allowed to get close."  
  
He's still looking at Marianne. Marianne flinches. Leonie feels the overwhelming urge to slap this man.  
  
"Hey!" she protests, snapping his attention from Marianne. "Who are _you_ to try and tell me that, huh? You don't even—"  
  
"Leonie." Marianne's voice isn't loud or sharp, but it stops Leonie in her tracks anyway. She has her fists clenched tight around the handle of the basket. She looks up for a second through her shaggy bangs, then back down when she notices everyone's eyes are on her.  
  
She swallows. "Please," she says. "Don't worry about him."  
  
"Do you think you can lurk behind the kindness of foolish strangers?" Frost scoffs. "I know you. I know your kind. I know your _family_— whatever you call yourselves. You can't hide forever. One day the rest of the world will see you for what you really are— a bunch of _mongrels_."  
  
"I…" for a second, it almost looks like Marianne's going to stand up for herself. But instead, she drops the basket and bolts, disappearing into the crowd almost too fast for Leonie to believe it.  
  
She doesn't really have time to stick around. "Marianne—" she protests. Then she looks back at Frost, and glowers at him. "You got off easy," she says. "You pull that next time I see you, I'm kicking your teeth in. I don't care what you say about her being a-a-a _monster_ or some bullshit like that. You don't—"  
  
"Oh, what, I don't _know_ her like you do?" Frost sneers. "Do you know where she's from? What her family does?"  
  
Leonie doesn't. She's not about to say that. "I don't give a shit," she says instead. There's a split second where she considers breaking his nose, and the only reason she doesn't is because she's too worried about Marianne. So instead she retreats, grabbing the basket and sprinting in the direction Marianne went.  
  
Frost storms off. Linhardt and Lysithea look at each other.  
  
"That could've gone better," Linhardt remarks. "He was awfully rude."  
  
"The fact that _you_, of all people, are the one saying this is what really hammers it in," Lysithea says.  
  
"Well, he was," Linhardt replies. "And a poor scholar, too. If he were _really_ interested in researching the supernatural like he claimed, he wouldn't sling around words like 'monster' and 'inhuman.' That strikes me as an easy way to get oneself mauled."  
  
"I know _I'd_ maul him," Lysithea mumbles. Then she falters. "I mean, anyone would. You don't have to be a werewolf or-or-or a vampire to know he was a jerk. I'm just saying what any normal human person would say."  
  
Linhardt hums. "Well, this has been fun and all, but where's the inn again?" he asks. "This has become quite a pain and I need a nap."  
  
Lysithea sighs. "For once, I'm right behind you."

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on twitter @detectiveryanz. follow for memes, video games, or just to get to know the sad little man behind the curtain.


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